Midday pizza party

I appreciate many, many parts of my job, and one element of that is my commute.  My longest commute since I joined the workforce was to a suburb 16 miles from my front door, to a suburb on the opposite side of the metro area, which made for some memorable rush-hour and/or blizzard-related snarls.  For the last several years, my commute has been six minutes.  Believe me, I do not take this for granted.  Sometimes I show my appreciation by going home for lunch!

On Wednesday, I went home for lunch because the draw of leftovers was strong.  Does everyone but me already know about Pillsbury's refrigerated roll-out pizza crust?  (That sounded like a really feeble paid endorsement, but I swear it's not.)  I just discovered it earlier this week, when I wanted to make pizza but didn't have time to make my own dough.  

Pause: That implies that I make my own dough often, which I have to admit isn't true.  But it's on my list.

Buying pre-made dough made everything come together so quickly, though, and it provided a convenient vehicle for any toppings I desired.  I have a hunch that it will come in very handy for using up summer vegetables from this month's CSA boxes.  This does not bode well (or perhaps bodes too well) for my as-yet-untested hypothesis that I could eat pizza literally every day and never tire of it.

Dinner: Brush crust with pesto.  Add fresh mozzarella, basil from the patio, heirloom tomatoes from the CSA box.  The next day, I had leftover slices and then realized I had one more tomato to use, so I tore up some more basil from the patio and went along my merry way.  Looks like caprese-themed overload, right?

NO!!  That was a trick question, and I hope no one fell for it.  

In Miles and Laurel, there is no such thing as caprese overload.  Those two words will never be strung together again in this blog.  My January self would like this lunch very much--and my August 16-18 self did, too.

Shopping the friendly skies

Oh, Miles and Laurel readers.  You know by now that this blog is built on the premise of loving life's small delights. But the next delight is almost too easy.

SkyMall.

If you've ever been on a plane, you know what it is: the in-flight catalog stocked full of strange little indulgences, from sports paraphernalia to foot massagers to patio furniture, unified under the umbrella of all somehow making life a heck of a lot better.

In cultural studies coursework back in college, my classmates and I enjoyed applying critical theory to popular culture phenomenons, which gave way to this fascination somewhere in between purely detached amusement and sincere, unabashed fondness of said phenomenons.

I continue to revel in that gray zone, and SkyMall plops right into that category.  (See also: Justin Bieber, Jersey Shore, and Lifetime movies.)  I start flipping through SkyMall during the ascent, when my Kindle, computer, and iPod are a collective no-go.  I start by poking fun in my head at the expensive gadgets.  By the time I de-plane, I leave convinced that I need a huge dog bed (for my dog that is, at press time, nonexistent) or a little toy gun that shoots marshmallows. 

On Monday's flight, I started tearing out products that drew my attention.  This went on just two or three times, until the guy in the middle seat in front of me turned around to see what I was doing.  (I'm sorry, 11D.)  

Then I crossed a treacherous line. 

I became the person who actually tucks the SkyMall into her carry-on at the end of a flight, just as the flight attendants always recommend.  I've gone down a serious road with SkyMall now, and I'm not sure I'll be able to turn back, so I might as well share the highlights.

Right away, I noticed this dog bed.  I was more interested, though, in how one would go about procuring a pile of puppies like that one.  Then I wondered how on earth the photographer coerced these puppies into 1) sitting still all together and 2) looking uniformly angelic.  The more you think about it, the more Herculean the task seems.  Is this photo fake?!

Credit

The next gem looks just like ripped jeans but is actually a comfy pair of lounge pants, complete with drawstring.  How 'bout that?
 

Credit

Last, there's the "The Zombie of Montclaire Moors Statue."  I just googled Montclaire Moors to make sure I never accidentally go there, and the top results were for this statue, so I think I'm safe.  If I ever ran by a yard that featured this statue, there's no guesswork to be done.  I'd faint delicately and expire on the spot.

Credit

WARNING: BONUS TIDBIT!

It would be cruel, scary and also probably bad for readership numbers to leave you with the Zombie.  We shall depart the world of SkyMall, for an utterly unrelated photo, courtesy of an ad in my neighborhood newspaper.

Kate Perry, you're a firework.

Not so wild cards

Readers, my hackles were raised yesterday.  

But first a confession, to provide context:

My parents may not buy it based on how I spent my life in middle school, but I've completely lost the gift of gab via telephone.  It may have something to do with my scratchy Blackberry and lackluster reception in my apartment, not to mention the lack of non-verbal cues from a conversation partner, but conversations are just infinitely better in person. This is challenging, though, when one wants to connect with friends and family who do not live in one's residence.

So besides the obvious texts, emails, and facebook messages, I've turned gradually to rely on greeting cards as part of my communications arsenal.  I love opening my mailbox and finding a handwritten note.  (Wait, does anyone in the world not love that?)  It's even more fun when there's no occasion and the cards are of the just-because-thinking-of-you variety.  When I take a minute to scrawl a message and drop a card in the mailbox, it makes me feel like I've been at least a little bit intentional about showing a loved one I care about my connection with him or her.

Today I went to a store featuring a generous greeting card selection to buy good luck cards for a few people I wanted to nudge with luck.  The store has six long rows of cards for every occasion: birthday, sympathy, congratulations, wedding, engagement, and baby.  But I circled the rows, getting confused.  Somehow, in this selection, there was just one sad, flimsy, neutral bland good luck card.

Reader, at risk of overreacting, what does this say about our world?  We know to send cards when things go wrong. We drop cards in the mail when a birthday passes or a major, obvious life event like a wedding, graduation, or baby's birth occurs. But why don't we want a stock of cards for before something happens, to watch out for someone and give him or her an extra little spark of knowing that someone cares and is rooting for him or her? Why shouldn't there be a section full of bright, punchy, cheerful "go get 'em" cards?  Nothing momentous, nothing over-the-top: just encouraging, happy thoughts.

I dealt with my frustration by figuring that everyone who wants to wish someone good luck must be having heartfelt phone conversations with their loved ones to tell them so, making me the odd one out.  More than ever before, though, it also spurred me on to finally figure out how to make my own stash of greeting cards.  This isn't a new idea by any stretch: If Josh reads this post, he is undoubtedly rolling his eyes because he's the one who has had to endure more than one conversation about sympathy and wedding card fonts.  

I'd really like to try my hand at designing my own cards, if only to eliminate the weird cranky feelings I experience whenever I go card-shopping!  It's high time that I stop grouching and start identifying a solution to this group of problems.

Crafty readers, do you know how to make cards?  Zazzle.com is opening up this whole world for me, but should I have other websites or avenues on my radar?  I want to design them on the computer and then have them printed and shipped to me--not unlike designing a holiday photo card, I guess, but with more autonomy and control regarding font, images, color, and layout than the traditional routes.  

What do you think?

When life hands you lemons...get very excited

I learned a lot about flora and fauna on my trip to California over the weekend.  

Do you know, for example, how to respond when approached by a mountain lion?  You should not fall down to the ground and expire, my first plan of attack. You should be large and shout.  Good life advice.

I also learned a lot about berries that we just don't have in Minnesota: all kinds of variations of blackberries, like dewberries, ollalieberries, and especially marionberries.  Some people in California love marionberries! (A marionberry cobbler is delightful.)  Nat's backyard also features a persimmon tree, an apple tree, and a grapefruit tree.  Needless to say, I'm envious.

But one of my favorite parts about California are the lemon trees.  Lemon trees!!  This is so foreign to me.  Lemon trees in Minnesota would keel over and die as soon as the State Fair came and went, I think.  But in California, you look at a regular old tree with nice green leaves in somebody's backyard, and then, boom!  You notice that it's filled with beautiful, bright, luscious yellow lemons.

The other fabulous detail about lemon trees that I discovered is that their leaves smell so citrusy--like the fruit itself, but somehow even better.  Once one picks a lemon leaf and sniffs it for a certain very long duration, its scent fades.  But then one can tear the leaf into small sections, and the smell comes back!

I'd like to do some research into reconfiguring American gardening zones to bring a lemon tree into my life year-round.  But if sustaining mint and basil are significant challenges, it doesn't bode well for my chances with the lemon. I will hold the lemons and its leaves close in my memory.

The city by the bay

Will modern wonders never cease?  I am tapping this post out from very high in the sky, at present just east of Battle Mountain, Nevada.  So goes the joys of the wifi-related joys of flying in the 21st century, right?  I'm on my way home after a happy weekend in San Jose with my friend Nathalia and her fiancé, Mike.  As I wrote last week, they are getting married in (less than) three weeks, but because I hadn't spent a real block of time with Nat in ages, I didn't want to try to catch up with her during wedding weekend--hence, the pre-wedding trip.  Consider it a bachelorette party for two, if that didn't sound completely weird. 

  

The last three days were everything I hoped for: we ran, we ate, we drove, we watched 48 Hours: Mystery--and above all, we talked...and talked and talked.  We started off the weekend with a grocery run to Trader Joe's. When we got back to Nat's house, we sat in the car for ages with the doors open and groceries waiting patiently because one story led to another story, which reminded us of something else, which basically went on for the rest of the weekend.  We did let Mike get a few words in, and it was wonderful to get to know him better.  They're great people.

Besides, how can you not love a girl whose storage system includes a box with this label?

Our biggest adventure took place Sunday morning, when the three of us drove to San Francisco's Embarcadero, the main waterfront road by the piers.  We ran along the winding sidewalk for six miles, up to the Golden Gate Bridge, and then turned around for the return trip, stopping at the Ferry Building for what at that moment was the best lemonade ever made.

If you've never been to San Francisco before, this route is a glorious introduction to the city.  I ran by Boudin Bakery, where fresh sourdough was just out of the oven, and by tiny restaurants with piles of fresh crab on display. We passed AT&T Park (where the Giants play), Pier 39, Fisherman's Wharf, Ghiradelli Square, and the Presidio.  We passed lots of tourists at Fisherman's Wharf and even got surprised by the Bush Man, a local legend who dresses up like an unassuming eucalyptus bush and pops out at said tourists to give them a fright.  (Nat and I Two parties in the vicinity emitted full-blown screams. The crowd loved it.)

Here's a life question: In the history of the earth, has a picnic ever been a bad idea?  I'd put a month's pay on no. Nat and Mike filled a big bag with lox and bagels and cream cheese and tomatoes and mimosas and chocolate milk, and after our run, we took the party (along with our friend Eddie) to a sunny, windy beach overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.  

The wind made the afternoon brisk (and sandy), but I bundled up in a big blanket and was a happy camper.

Loving the photobomb

The other fabulous element of this beach, besides the oodles of families making the most of a gorgeous San Francisco day, was that it was a dog beach.  Yes, reader, you saw that correctly.  The day involved running, friends, food, a beautiful summer day, exploring a new place, and dogs. It was one of my personal versions of heaven.  It seemed to be the dogs' idea of heaven, too.

A good day: plow into water, run to shore, shake off water, repeat

Standing tall in a life preserver

There are more California stories to come, but rest assured, the content will be shorter.

 

Sayonara from Lander, Wyoming!